Four Countries, One Holiday
by MinaMonet
Summary: Arthur has never been a Valentine's day person, so this year his friends have decided he needs to spend the holiday with "Friends."  FrUk, some USUK, Russia was for fun.  R&R, it makes for a happy Mina!
1. A Grouchy Morning

_This is a short fic idea I had. I only plan on making it 3-4 chapters, depending on how it ends. It's mostly awkward valentine's dating situations for poor Arthur, but it'll get interesting when the love affairs start. It'll be going for the month of February since I can't get four chapters up in... 3 hours, but it'll keep everyone entertained. (I should finish in February if I don't get distracted. Ooh! Butterfly!)_

_I intended it to be FrUk, with a hint of AmeGland (yes, I did just call it that, got a problem with that? XD ) I just thought tossing in Russia would be funny, and I couldn't think of a third Uk pairing I really wanted to toss in..._

_As usual, I don't own Hetalia, all that good stuff... wish I did but... you get what you pay for._

_Love Loves! Enjoy!_

_-Mina_

* * *

Arthur hissed as he made his way down the stairs that morning. The halls were adorned with big pink paper hearts and obnoxious lace in every feminine color he could imagine. Hanging like a banner over the stairs was a powdery version of the Union Jack made completely out of cut out hearts. He wanted to puke at the sight. He was so used to spending every single year holed up in his house, eating microwave dinners, watching old love stories and crying that he didn't have that for himself. He'd always eat till he puked then turn around and eat some more, living like an incredibly depressed Roman, as Alfred had once described it.

It wasn't that he particularly hated the holiday; it's that he didn't have any reason to celebrate it. Ever since Alfred had bucked up and asked Matthew out last year, there was no one to even complain with about the holiday. Usually having his little brother around kept Arthur from being depressed, but after disappearing on his date the year prior Arthur's depression had blown up full scale. Last time he'd had a date for valentine's day was back during the first world war, and even then he wasn't even with a date, more like cowering behind an over eager Alfred while he pulled through all their dirty work after Arthur had already had his ass handed to him. Since then, holidays were a solemn, lonely event in his house.

That was, until this year. After story of last year got out none of his "friends" would let him be alone on such a day as dear February 14th. A few thought he might do something idiotic, like commit suicide, while others were afraid he'd drink himself silly till six the following morning then attempt to drive back home, ("crashing on those backwards streets of his," As Ivan had stated.) Not a one of them was willing to let him just take advantage of the opportunity to mope, complain, bicker and get absolutely wasted. Somehow they all seemed to think that dear England always had to be prim and proper so someone had to watch him at all times. He'd tried to argue, tried to tell them they were all losing their minds and that he could handle himself, but Alfred had been no help for upholding his argument. That obnoxious American just had to say that a number of years back Arthur had abandoned a young Alfred with Seychelles and gone out to get drunk. He'd shown up the following morning without pants, his tie on his head, only his right shoe on, and half his hair dyed purple. No one in the world conference ever wanted to see that.

So, needless to say they'd nearly attacked his house on the 13th with an infinite supply of valentines and annoying heart décor. Afterward, Francis, Alfred and (dare he think it) Ivan, had signed up for watch shifts. Ivan was first thing in the morning, which meant Arthur might be able to sleep through most of the time they were supposed to spend together, or so he'd hoped. But then, Ivan just had to bring some strange Chinese Gong and start banging it at five in the morning, what would normally be a rather late hour for the Russian to wake up. Then he'd followed by spilling a hot cup of coffee all over Arthur's lap when he attempted to bring in his breakfast in bed (an idea he got from Ukraine who said that's what she wanted if she ever found true love). Arthur had jumped up screaming from his bed and ran into the shower where he proceeded to take a very cold shower to cool down his burning legs. Sopping wet, he stomped into the bed room, grabbed a pair of pajama bottoms from his dresser, then went back into the bathroom and locked the door, ignoring the Russian cat calls behind him ("You can unchanged in here, da! You can't be any smaller than America!")

Once changed, the Brit headed back into his bedroom and picked up the tray covered in spilt coffee and headed down the hall and downstairs, where he stood, staring at the obscene thing hanging from the mantel piece of his stairs. Could they be more ridiculous? He shook his head and continued on down the stairs and into the kitchen. Behind him, Ivan was dragging the stained white sheets that he'd tried to bundle in his arms. Even if he was ruining the morning, Arthur was appreciative that he was at least trying to help so he barked out the direction to the laundry room before he made his way into the kitchen.

Already frustrated with the entire morning, the Brit dropped the dishes in the sink, untouched pancakes and all, then scrubbed down the tray with an overly soapy dish towel and stowed it away in a cabinet under the stove where he hoped no one would ever find it again. Why he even had the thing he didn't know, especially when he lived alone ninety percent of the time, and the times he had company it was just Peter who was too small to reach the stove on his own, let alone try and make Arthur a breakfast without burning the house down. Arthur turned to one of the overhead cupboards and found a small frying pan. He then moved to the refrigerator and took out a carton of eggs, some cheese, and a mix of peppers in a plastic bag. He turned on the stove, cracked a few eggs and sat staring at the pan, yawning into the palm of his hand every few minutes. He didn't bother adding the peppers till the edges of the eggs had turned brown. Just as he tossed in a handful of god knows how many kinds of peppers, Ivan walked in with his usual smirk, watching the Brit for a moment before a sudden look of horror struck his face, if only for a second.

"You're not going to eat that, da?"

"Yes, is there a problem with me cooking my own breakfast?" Arthur remarked bitterly as he folded his omelet over the peppers and sprinkled some cheese on before sliding the much blackened omelet onto a plate.

"Da, Francis said you couldn't cook." Ivan remarked with a shrug of his shoulders before he turned away and moved to the fridge to grab a water bottle (he certainly wasn't going to trust water from the English Channel, how many people had died in that?)

Arthur rolled his eyes at the comment and blew it off. Francis was always spreading rumors about his cooking, Alfred too when he got the chance. So he wasn't a chef, but his food was not that bad! They just weren't used to it, that was all. He shook his head and turned back to his food, using the side of his fork to cut off a big chunk which he stabbed mercilessly and put in his mouth. Ivan watched with intrigue as the Englishman chewed, his eyebrows twitching in an uncontrolled manner, almost like he was trying to hide his dislike for the taste in his mouth. All the same, he swallowed and cut off another bite, much smaller than the first. He put that into his mouth too, chewed and swallowed, but before he could subject himself to another moment of torture Ivan snatched the plate away and dumped the rest of his breakfast in the garbage.

"Hey! I can't just go hungry!" Arthur complained in a boisterous manner, jumping to his feet as his eyebrows furrowed together, both angered and a bit upset that he couldn't at least be partly respected about his food.

"You a worse masochist than me, da, and I send men to war with only a gun for every third man." Ivan remarked before shaking his head and turning to put the extra ingredients back in the fridge, though he whole heartedly felt he should just dump the entire contents in the trash so the Brit had no inclination to ever cook again. He'd be doing them all a favor. He didn't though, just calmly put everything away while Arthur cringed back into the corner, trying to avoid any slip of the tongue that might result in a plumbing utensil to the face. He may have hated Valentine's Day, but he did not hate it enough to wish for a coma and brain damage in its place.

Hissing and groaning out incomprehensible statements about how everyone doubted his cooking, Arthur grabbed a bag of gummy bears and a beer and walked into the living room where he crashed on the couch and turned the television to the news channel. There was nothing better at six in the morning than a pointless news spot about the increasing cost of a dozen roses and the commonality and repetition in gifts for couples over the age of forty. What a wonderful way to spend the morning. The only thing that seemed to make it better was that sound of a pop when he opened his beer can. It fizzled lightly like a soda, but just as he raised it to his lip that, too, was snatched away from him.

He growled at the huge Russian hovering over him, holding his untouched beer in hand. Ivan had that same old smile, as if he'd done nothing wrong in stealing a man's drunk, but to Arthur it was nearly a crime. He fumbled around on the couch, spilling gummy bears all over the place, losing a shoe somewhere between the couch cushions, tipping the giant love seat over while he tried to climb over the back of it and steal his drink back, but all the Russian did was side step and avoid all his attempts. The Brit hissed and launched again, knocking over a lamp, kicking one of the pictures on the end table to the other side of the room where it hit the wall with a resounding crash. Arthur paused to look at the broken glass, only to see the image of younger version of himself beside a childish Alfred, Francis and Matthew awkwardly positioned a few inches away. Those were the only people that had ever been close enough for him to call family, and Ivan had just made him defile the only picture he had of the four of them together.

Even grumpier than when the morning had started, the Englishman stared daggers at the Russian before he turned toward the stairs, leaving the living room in shambles, "Never, ever, steal an Englishman's liquor." He remarked in a sour tone before he moved a few feet toward the stairs. He took a second to anticipate the coming remark before he responded to that as well, "I'm going to back to bed. You can clean this up; then get out."

With that, Arthur marched up the stairs, his steps thundering through the entire house before the bedroom door slammed shut and he crawled into bed. He pulled the covers up to his neck, covered his head loosely with his extra pillow, before he dozed off once more.

He had every intention of staying that way until the next maniac came to take their shift at watching him, whoever that maniac was.


	2. We're Countries

_Well, it took a little longer than I'd hoped, school goes bam like that after holidays. Either way, this is up, the next chapter is already in the making, I'm looking forward to all your comments._

_I'm going to hope the chapter title doesn't ruin anything for the end. It shouldn't, but some people read really far into those sorts of things._

_Love Loves,_

_Enjoy,_

_-Mina_

* * *

"Iggy! Iggy, are you here?"

An incredibly annoying call echoed up the stair case, coming from the front door. Arthur grabbed one of his pillows and pulled it up over his head, a groan on his lips. Of all the times to be awake, why did it have to be when Alfred was there? Oh god, what if that's who was watching him next? Suddenly, he felt his stomach lurch and he instantly wanted to puke. Why? Why, why, why, why, why? Wouldn't it be a better waste of his time for Alfred to be off with Matthew or something? Didn't he have some ugly maple leaves to make into a flower arrangement or something? He did not need to be there just to watch Arthur.

"America! He's sleeping, I think…" Russia replied in that typical, annoyingly cheerful tone. He probably hadn't even picked up the living room; that would be so like Ivan. Arthur groaned slightly at the thought, he certainly hoped his living room was not still in shambles when he went downstairs later. His shoulders drooped a little more; that was just another Valentine's Day disappointment to worry about when he climbed out of bed.

This was why he liked to sleep this entire holiday through! Then he didn't have to worry about all this crap, about the destruction of his house or depressing, not single people all around him. Sleeping the whole holiday through meant he could ignore the annoyances, and that when it was all over he didn't have to think about how depressing a day it had been, spent all alone. Try as they might, these three buffoons weren't making his life easier, they were probably aiding in the torment. Oh how poor little Arthur just wanted to burrow into his blankets and pillows and forget this day had ever happened. The boisterous conversation downstairs truly wanted to prevent him from doing so though, they really must not have wanted him to even partially enjoy the day.

"Sleeping? Iggy wouldn't sleep all day! It's not very… Iggy-ish." Groan. Again with Alfred's lack of English skills. If he'd paid attention as a child he might have thought of something better than 'iggy-ish.' There was a long pause in the American's speech while he looked about the living room. "Oo-wee. If his house is this much of a disaster then I might understand why he'd sleep it through."

"He did this. I just took his beer away because we shouldn't let him drink, da?"

"Oh, well… I mean, I know we said that but if he's going to destroy the house then maybe we should reconsider that rule, at least until I can be a good hero and make his day all better!" Alfred chimed. There was the very distinct crunch of glass under his feet while he walked around, examining the damage. He looked down to the picture he'd just stepped on and sucked in a sorrowful breath. The energy behind him a moment ago faded as he stared at the old picture. Maybe that was why Iggy had cooped himself up in his room. "Did he break this too?"

"Da! Then he ran upstairs and he hasn't been back since." Ivan answered. Hastily, Alfred dropped the photo on the end table by the over turned couch and ran up the stairs to Arthur's room. The Brit had nearly no warning before the door to his room was thrown open and a shining, robust, obnoxious American burst into his bedroom.

"Iggy! Iggy! Don't sleep! We can go take another picture! I can call Francis and Matty; they'll come if I ask! You don't have to pout about that silly picture, its okay."

Arthur groaned again and lifted his pillow off his head. Slowly, he sat up and stared at Alfred, not really sure what to say to him. Then, just as suddenly as the door to his room had been thrown open, he threw the pillow in his hand at the American, as hard as his old riffle arm could throw. It hit square in the American's face, knocking the glasses off his pale nose. The annoying curl on the hero's head seemed to pout a little, it fell a little closer to flat as the pillow slid down his face, dragging his glasses down with it. He sighed, shaking his head as he knelt down and picked up the glasses and pillow. He rubbed the smudge off his glasses on the edge of his shirt before placing them back over his nose and looking back to Arthur. Holding the pillow tight in hand, he charged over to the bed and tackled Arthur into the mattress.

"Oww, what the hell are you doing? Alfred! Get off of me! Go away, I don't want you here!" The Brit spat, kicking and shoving to the best of his ability to get the younger country off of him. Alfred only grinned and shook his head, grabbing at Arthur's arms and legs and pinning him down on the bed so that he couldn't move.

"No~ It's cheer up Iggy day and I, as the ultimate Hero, must be the source of your joy! Praise me!"

"Get off of me you slimy git!" Arthur yelled again, wiggling about under the American's grip. It felt absolutely useless, until Alfred's foot slipped, giving Arthur the perfect opportunity. Admittedly, he would feel bad about it later, he didn't particularly want to hit the obnoxious one where the sun doesn't shine, but it was the only option he had. Trying not to be too forceful, he kneed Alfred in the groin, finding to his relief that at the pain the American rolled off of him, hands cupped over the area he'd been hit. Arthur quickly rolled out from under him and right off the edge of the bed, landing like a ninja on his feet.

He watched Alfred, rolling from side to side for a moment like a turtle on its back, face contorted in pain. Arthur cursed softly under his breath before he ran downstairs to the kitchen and grabbed a bag of frozen peas out of the fridge. He was trying to get the bothersome American off of him, he was not trying to cause lasting damage to the country he'd raised like a child and considered a brother (because he did not want to be old and think of Alfred as his son, it was too creepy.) He headed back upstairs, frozen food in hand and walked into his bedroom, only to see Alfred was still lying on the bed in the feeble position. He must have hit him a little harder than he'd meant to, it wasn't very often that the American showed any weakness at all, especially not like that.

Though frustrated, Arthur felt a little guilty about Alfred's current position. He walked to the bed side and held the bag of peas at waste level, hovering a few inches above the American's hands, trying to avoid any compromising positions. Alfred didn't hesitate in taking the cool item from the Brit's hand. There was a long moment of silence that fell over the room while Alfred tried to get over the pain, something that seemed a lot better with something cold near his nether regions. It took a few minutes for him to crack a smile at the guilty Brit sitting on the end of the bed, head hung out of shame.

"You know Iggy, if it makes you feel any better you can just kiss it better." Alfred joked, a smirk crossing his features.

"Get out!"

"It's just a joke, jeez." Alfred remarked, smiling slightly. He watched Arthur quietly, watched that cute little vein on the right side of his forehead pulse in frustration. That's what he'd missed about staying with Arthur: those eight million eyebrows furrowed together, the scolding gaze, then that forgiving sigh and soft eyes that came when he realized there was no hope for Alfred and he might as well accept it. Suddenly, America understood just what he wanted to do during their time together. "Hey Iggy, let's go to the park today!"

"Why on earth… I'm not leaving this house!" Arthur argued hastily, afraid of the idea behind America's outburst of ideas. There was no reason to go to the park, absolutely none! So why then did he want to take an unnecessary expedition to the middle of the city?

"Please? Please! It'll be fun, I promise! And since all the little kids are in school you don't have to worry about any reminders." Arthur stuttered over another protest to such an idea, but as soon as his eyes fell on Alfred's current condition, he shut up and nodded. It wasn't like he felt all that sad for the American, he just felt guilty that he was the one who'd inflicted such damage in the first place.

"Yay! Iggy should get dressed then! I'll go shoo away the Commie and clean up the living room and you should put on something… not that."

Arthur sighed, waving his hand slightly to scoot out the American (who was still holding the peas. Arthur would have to remember not to put those back in the fridge.) He watched as the American happily waddled over to the door. The door clicked shut and Arthur moved about his room. What to wear? Last time he'd gone to the park with Alfred he'd been absolutely covered in mud, it was best not to wear nice clothing to a place like that. (He thoroughly ignored the fact that Alfred had only been ten last time they'd gone to the park.)

It was easiest just to settle on an old pair of kaki's and a white long sleeve button down, his green and blue checkered sweater vest pulled over to keep the white shirt from getting dirty. He slipped his feet into a pair of brown loafers before he headed down stairs, hair still a mess and hands shoved into his pockets. He looked over to Alfred, speed cleaning around the place. In one second it was like hell warmed over, then everything was back to its rightful place.

All but that old photo that had been moved over to the coffee table was in its spot. The corner of it was bent, there were a number of scratches on the film from the glass, and worst of all was the tear that ripped it almost in half. Arthur moved over and picked it up in his hands, careful not to do any more damage to that old memory. He stared and stared, looking onward till he saw Alfred's gaze upon him and he hastily put it back down and acted as though he hadn't even touched it.

"Why did you want to go to the park anyway?" Arthur asked quickly, trying to force attention away from his embarrassment around such a silly notion as staring at a photo.

"Oh… you'll see. It's Iggy day, it has to make Iggy happy, right?"

"I suppose." _Not that anything else has made me happy when you try to do good by me._ Arthur reminded himself bitterly.

"Then let's go!" Alfred jumped up and grabbed the Brits hand, dragging the cursing Englishman out the front door without so much as a warning.

* * *

The park was incredibly quiet by the time they arrived. All the children were indeed at school so they wouldn't be a bother. Most of the people that might usually bicycle about the park were apparently off at work. The only people around were the elderly and the homeless, all of whom looked pleased just to have someone of their liking sitting beside them. Arthur could hear Alfred's quiet, yet bothersome, crooning as they passed every cute couple. More than once he'd thrown in a, "I wonder if Matty and I can be that way!" or a, "When we get old, Matty and I will feed the birds hamburgers like those people there." It was cute, in an annoying sort of way.

The farther they walked, the more Arthur wanted to just turn around and punch the babbling idiot that followed just a step behind him. Of all the people! Every time that American said something, the Englishman's shoulders would sink a little lower till he felt like he was dragging along the ground.

"Hey Iggy, why do you like that picture so much?" Alfred finally asked, more serious than before. Arthur jumped to attention and shrugged, shoving his hands in his pocket once more. He was trying to play cool, act like he didn't understand. It was a waste of his time.

"Come on Iggy, there's got to be a reason." Four eyes pushed, trying for an answer of any kind. He wouldn't give it up. When Arthur didn't answer he just kept on asking till the Brit finally snapped and came to an immediate halt, spinning to face the bloody American that was so persistent to drive him insane.

"That picture was from the last valentine's we all spent together. It's the last time we were really a family. Is that the answer you wanted?" Arthur spat before he turned back and stormed a few feet ahead to the edge of the park bridge that crossed over a small stream. He leaned on the stone railing and sighed, staring into the water.

Alfred stood back a moment, watching as the words sunk in. Last valentine's? It hadn't been that long since they'd all been together, had it? Well… oh. Francis had kind of abandoned Arthur that summer, hadn't he? And then just a few months later Alfred had declared himself a lone country, and since Francis had come to Alfred's defense, no doubt Arthur's relationship with either Matthew or Francis had suffered. He must have felt so ostracized that year. Was that when he'd started to hate the holiday?

"Is that what you really want? We can make that happen again if you want."

"No, I can't force everyone back. You all left for a reason, I'm sure it's the same reason you won't come back." Arthur muttered, rolling his jaw slightly to talk since he'd put his chin in the palm of his hand.

"Things can change."

"But people won't."


	3. Il est saint Valentin, mon cher

_Hello my dears! You must all hate me so much right now. I'm so sorry, I'm a terrible person, I know! Inspiration struck today however and I knew I had to get this done for all of you lovely's that still have it in you to love me._

_I'll give you some warning ahead of time about the poorly rendered french in here. I took the equivalent to one semester of french. Most of this just came out of an online translator. Here's the ones you should probably know:_

_mon/votre frѐre - my/your brother_

_Qui est votre problème? - what's wrong? (more literally, "what's your problem?")_

_mon ami - My love_

_Mon Cher- My dear_

_Il est saint Valentin- It's valentine's day_

_and for reference, most of the stuff that suggests a french accent you can mentally replace the majority of the random z's with th's and you'll be fine._

_Hope you enjoy, sorry it's taken so long, and the end will be up as soon as I have a spare moment to drag the whole family image back together._

_Lovies_

_-Mina_

* * *

"What do you mean people won't change?" Alfred asked, mouth gaping. He'd heard Arthur being dismal and dreary before, but not like that.

"I mean what I said. People won't change. You say it all the time, you say that things should be better in a day or two, that the hero will fix things, but let's be honest Alfred, you haven't done any good for me since you smiled the first time." Arthur remarked, his tone matter of fact. He almost seemed bored with their conversation at that point, as if the American had no valid point to argue against him.

Alfred, however, was not so convinced. It stung a bit to hear a man he'd nearly thought to be his father say he had only ever caused trouble, but thinking back on it, he knew that wasn't true. After all, he'd been the one that had saved Arthur just a few valentines ago when they'd been at war; he'd been the great defendant. Alfred had too bright of hopes to even begin taking Arthur's words to heart. Instead, he focused on formulating a better argument, because, well, what hero couldn't win a little fight like that?

"Yeah but… Iggy, we're not people, we're countries, and countries change all the time. I mean, just last year my boss was replaced, and I get a new president every four years." Alfred seemed pleased with himself at that. "See? We change constantly. Who's to say Francis and Mattie won't come running back to you?"

"Time and experience. That's what says they won't come back. How long are you going to pester me about this?" Arthur groaned and turned away from the American. He seemed flustered, angry, but more so in a way that said he didn't want to admit that a bloody American could ever be right.

"Maybe time will also prove you wrong." Alfred responded before shoving his hands in his pocket and following the Brit from a few feet back. He watched the shoulders droop, the feet drag, and the unenthusiastic way Arthur pulled himself forward as if he were being tugged along by a heavy chain like a death march. It wasn't a pleasant thought.

The remainder of their trip to the park was an absolute waste of time. Alfred had fallen incredibly silent at the English man's lack of hope. He'd tried for something that might cheer up the pouting Brit but there seemed to be nothing that would make it any easier. Arthur just wasn't the kind to look at things as bright as rainbows all the time. It was a bit of a pity really, especially since they were all well aware of Arthurs fantasy world filled with rainbows. Perhaps that was just why he didn't believe, because that part was just a fantasy.

Still! There had to be something that would cheer up his pouting little English man! Even if it was just a flower or a card or something as big as buying Seychelles back, it didn't matter! He couldn't stand to see his big brother so upset all the time. Despite all Alfred tried to deny about their relationship, he cared about his homeland, maybe even loved him if he got past the deep set resentment for history. He had to do something, anything, to end the dreariness of Arthur's mood. They'd meet up with Mattie and Francis in half an hour, but there apparently wasn't anything that would make the next half an hour easy on him. He could treat Arthur to lunch, but looking at Arthur as he was then, that sounded like a dismal idea; the Brit would probably throw his food at the nearest waitress if they tried that. Things were not looking very good.

"Alfred!" the American spun on his heels to see who would be calling his name. His eyes found the figure of a flamboyant Frenchman running toward him, followed closely by the nearly translucent figure of Mattie holding his polar bear.

"You guys are early. I thought you weren't going to be here till three?"

"We weren't… but zen mon frѐre got ze text and we ran to see mon cher." Francis explained, trying to suck in long breaths so that he could look a bit more composed. "Où est mon cher?"

Alfred looked to Mattie, hoping for a little translation help. Sure, he was a mix of all sorts of things, but Francis spoke so fast he might as well have been talking in a code Alfred had yet to decipher.

"He said "where is Arthur?"" the Canadian muttered, holding Kumajiro up to hide his lips so that Alfred would see him gasping for air. Carrying a bear as big as Kumo must have been tough on him and Alfred looked to him sympathetically for a short moment at the thought. The difficulty, however, was he couldn't focus on Matthew, not even on Valentine's Day when they had a date planned and everything! No, he had to put the brunt of his focus on pouting Arthur who might have committed suicide already if they weren't paying attention.

Speaking of which… where was he? He'd been lazily walking over to the park swing last he'd been seen, and now he was nowhere in sight. He wasn't playing emo on the swing, or crying in the U bend at the top of the slide, or even leaning against one of the big trees with his knees pulled in. He'd just disappeared completely.

"I… I don't know where he went." Alfred muttered, though it was evident to the other two countries without words, he was spinning around with a concerned look on his face; it was kind of hard to miss.

"Zen we shall find him. Mon cher cannot be far." Alfred nodded, watching as Francis ran ahead to find the grouchy Brit, leaving the other two to stand back in his dust. The younger two looked to one another before wordlessly nodding in agreement and heading in the other direction. Francis could find Arthur by himself, he was far more accustomed to it than the younger brothers, and besides that, they had other things related to Arthur that needed to be taken care of.

* * *

Hurrying down the path, Francis stumbled upon a side way that was unpaved and was word down from other people passing by. On a whim, the Frenchman bet on his sweet amour being down that way, where he could expect it to be dark and secluded; just what Arthur would be looking for at a moment like that. He turned down the dirt road and hurried along in that direction.

To the Frenchman's surprise, there were a lot more people back there than he'd been expecting. Most of them were hiding back in the woods, plenty of couples with their backs to the trees having good old make-out sessions. Then there was that couple up on the hill that apparently couldn't keep their clothes on, and in a public place no doubt! Needless to say, Francis gave them a thumb up as he walked by. Arthur would hit him if he knew, but he had to encourage young love! That was his thing!

And then he found the subject of his searching, the hunched frame ahead that was sitting in a clearing near the river bank, away from the rigorous commotion of the love-makers in the bushes. The Frenchman seemed to smile a bit before hurrying over to his sweet Angleterre. He sat down beside the Brit, draping an arm over the man's shoulders.

"Mon ami? Qui est votre problème?"

"Get lost frog. I wasn't look for your sympathy." Arthur muttered, scooting out of arms reach of his company. He may not have been looking for sympathy, but he probably needed it.

"But mon cher, Il est saint Valentin. Oh… you don't have ze valentine. Désolé…" Francis remarked solemnly, watching Arthur as his expression continued to sink. "You know mon cher… I don't have ze valentine eizer."

Arthur looked up to him at that comment, a little surprised to hear Francis say something like that. Admittedly, part of him suspected Francis was single on Valentine's Day, but he was expecting it to be more by choice than by unfortunate turn of event like Arthur. The way the Frenchman had said it, however, made it seem like he preferred being alone. But then, what did it matter to Arthur? Why bother telling him if the git wanted to be single?

"Good for you." Arthur grumbled, folding his arms over his knees. He watched as a couple in their little peddle boat went on by, hands held in the center cockpit. They looked so happy it made him angry and sick all over again.

"Mon cher… I chose zis for you." Francis stated, moving his hand to the Brit's. Arthur didn't notice at first, at least not until he felt the warmth of his hand being held and the soft touch of the Frenchman's skin.

"Uggh… I may be lonely, but I'm not that lonely." Arthur responded quickly, pulling his hand free and jumping to his feet. He rubbed his hand on his pant leg then spun away from the Parisian, heading back into the woods with Francis scrambling to catch up.

"Zen you should not pout, Angleterre. You do not take love zat is given to you, zen you should not be loved, no? And yet mon frѐre et votre frѐre are trying so hard to make you happy. Does Angleterre not want amour?" He had absolutely no intention of giving up; that was rather evident.

"I never said that, I just said not you, git." Arthur picked up his pace a little more at that, both trying to escape his pursuing Frenchman, and to get past the shirtless couple in the grass.

"But Angleterre, I thought you said you loved me once? And in Français no less!" Francis continued, speeding up so he'd stay only a few feet behind his friend. England was convinced he'd escape if he walked faster, but France was convinced he could keep up as fast as Arthur went.

"I was drunk, really, really drunk. You've said stupid things when you were smashed too you know." Arthur muttered.

"But I do not tell a lie, even when I am drunk. Angleterre, zere must have been some truth in zere. Have you no feelings at all?" Francis asked. His voice was gentle, still not frustrated though he'd been chasing after Arthur and confessing his love for much too long already. It must have hurt to be scathed by such awful comments, and yet he seemed so unfazed. The smug grin on his face suggested he thought differently than the Brit about their situation. He grabbed the boys arm and pulled Arthur to a stop. "I did not lie, Angleterre. If it were a lie, I would not have bothzered coming all ze way to your country for you."

Arthur groaned and tried to pull away, but just before he could move, there was the warm sensation of something against his lips, and that flurry of blonde hair that ran through his vision before he saw those piercing blue eyes before him come closed. He scrambled for a second, but fell quiet after a moment and let Francis finish.

As the Frenchman pulled back, their eyes met and he looked up his Englishman apologetically. "Désolé, mon ami, but you looked so angry."

"Get your hands off me, frog." Arthur hissed, though his tone seemed to have subsided, and he didn't pull nearly as hard as he had before. Some part of him had settled down with that, so much that he didn't bother to pull his hand away in the end.

"Oh, mon cher! You do like it!" Francis exclaimed cheerfully, looking to their hands still interlocked as Arthur continued up the wooded path back to the main road through the park.

"Will you shut up?" Arthur replied, though one glance back at Francis said he wouldn't. Knotting his eyebrow together in regret for what he was about to do, he turned back to the Frenchman and planted a solid, quick kiss on his lips.

Francis kept his mouth wide open the rest of the trip, his eyes wide and star filled until they reached the bridge, but to Arthur's relief, he never said a word the rest of the way back. Flabbergasted or whatever it was, the Englishman was finally glad he'd done something ludicrous, because for once it had an upside. Even if he was certain there'd be repercussions in the near future. He could feel it.


End file.
